As Celia undressed slowly, going over the scene that had taken place in

the hall below, recalling the changes in the Marquess's expressive face,

his strange manner, with its suggestion of anger and impatience, she

sought in vain for an explanation. Had he actually been annoyed and

irritated by her admission that she had noticed a resemblance in the

portrait of his dead brother to someone whom she had met? He had said,

emphatically, that it was only a fancied resemblance, and she accepted

his decision. It certainly could be only a freak of imagination on her

part, seeing that the Marquess's brother had not married--indeed, it was

ridiculous to suppose that there was any connection between the noble

family of the Sutcombes and the unknown man in the poverty-stricken room

at Brown's Buildings. Woman-like, her mind dwelt more on him than on the

Marquess's impatience and annoyance. There was something strange,

mysterious, in the fact that, not only was she haunted by the memory of

the young man, but that here, at Thexford Hall, she should fancy a

portrait of one of the family resembled him.

It did not need much to recall him to her mind; for it may be said that

in no idle moment of hers was her mind free of him. Now she asked

herself, for the hundredth time, not only what had become of him, but

what was her duty to him. She had not tried to find him, had not

endeavoured to communicate with him. At the moment it occurred to her

that she might have inserted a carefully-guarded advertisement in the

Personal column of one or more of the newspapers, and she felt ashamed

that the thought had not struck her before. She almost, but not quite,

decided to insert such an advertisement at once; but, as she pondered,

she questioned the wisdom of such an action. Her mind swung, like a

pendulum, from one side to the other, and at last she fell asleep, still

undecided, but still thinking of him.

The next morning she went out with Roddy for her usual before-breakfast

run. It seemed that the Marquess also was an early riser; for she saw

his figure, pacing one of the walks, his eyes fixed on the ground. She

was going in his direction, and Roddy, catching sight of him, bounded

towards him. The Marquess saw her, raised his hat, and turned. It seemed

to Celia that he wished to avoid her, and she went on her way--the dog

returning to her--and re-entered the house. She did not know whether to

expect a visit in the library from the Marquess; and every now and then,

when she heard his footstep or his voice, she paused in her work with

something like apprehension. But he did not come. In the afternoon he

went out in the motor, and presently Mrs. Dexter came into the library.




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